The Appeasement
by StargazingED
Summary: "The rebellion had defeated great king Robert, and she was the appeasement. A promised marriage when she was merely a babe. And if the prince chose to refuse her, if she was deemed unworthy, the rage of the Iron Islands would be insatiable. She could not fail. Sansa Stark had to make Prince Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Isles fall in love with her, defeat was not an option." One Shot.


When Sansa stark was just a girl she dreamed of handsome knights in gleaming silver armour, with ringlets of spun gold and eyes of sapphire. Of the colours of perfect silk gowns, so bright of flowing. Creamy Myrish lace, intricately woven and beautiful in design. Rubies and emeralds and moon diamonds. She dreamed of running through the Godswood at Winterfell with Lady prancing around her heels and she was laughing, the sound like a thousand silver bells. Or she was at Court, her skirts swelling out around her as she danced with her prince charming, her cheeks aching a little because of her constant smile. The candles were burning around her, their glow illuminating her knight's comely face and just as he would lean down; as he would move to place his plump lips on hers she would awake. And she would be alone in her childish bedroom in a tower of Winterfell, disappointed with the plain cotton of her simple nightgown and the absence of her perfect knight.

But now, Sansa was a woman grown and her dreams no longer shimmered with the fantasies of naïve maiden. She imagined now that she was chained, loops of steel crossing over her chest pinning her arms by her sides. But she was walking; a heavy gown of ivory dragged behind her and her vision was clouded by a veil of the Myrish lace she had once envied. Or perhaps it was tears that clouded her, she did not know. Her auburn curls were pinned away from her face tightly; she could feel the weight of bone hair pins engraved with silver against her scalp. As was walking along the aisle, but her lord father did not take her arm nor caress her face the last time. She walked on alone, her feet bare and trembling with cold upon the rushes of the wedding hall floor. As her glassy eyes reached up to dais where she would stand and become a wife she saw not her betrothed, but a man with the head of a kraken. And Sansa woke alone and screaming.

However, this time she was not in her chambers at her family home, with the heat of the hot springs in the air and the sweet smell of her nightly bathe still on her skin. She was glazed with the dampness of cold sweat, sprawled in the tiny bed of her cabin on the sea vessel _Ashanti. _The smell of the salty air choked her, the musty scent of her used nightclothes stifling. There was many a time Sansa Stark had wished for a life away from the frozen lands of Winterfell, to wed a prince, wear gowns of the finest samite and a tiara of sunstone. Sansa did so love sunstone. But now, there was nothing she longed for more. Nothing she so craved as the embrace of her siblings, her lady mother brushing out her hair or her lord father reaching to take her hand. As the feeling of Lady's fur beneath her fingers or smile of her most trusted handmaiden, Cara.

The rebellion had defeated great king Robert, and she was the appeasement. A promised marriage when she was merely a babe. And if the prince chose to refuse her, if she was deemed unworthy, the rage of the Iron Islands would be insatiable. She could not fail. Sansa Stark had to make Prince Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Isles fall in love with her, defeat was not an option.

Sansa rose and glimpsed the chilly sunlight through her small porthole as she drew back the dark cotton curtains. She wondered what her betrothed was actually like, and hoped with her entire heart that he did not in fact have the head of a kraken. The nightmares she could endure, but a life of spectacle and unhappiness she would struggle to bear. Nerves were swelling in her stomach, pooling icily. Mayhaps Prince Theon would grow to love her, or lest tolerate her. She could sing and paint and keep sums; Sansa knew she could be a useful wife. She had been told she was beautiful too, that even the Narrow Sea could not rival the aquamarine of her eyes. Sansa prayed that the seven would watch over her, that her courtesies and talents would be enough for a happy marriage.

Doing her best to forget her qualms Sansa prepared herself to leave the ship in a matter of hours and meet her future father in law. She was told that she would not be acquainted with Prince Theon until she met him at the altar; one of the guards had said there would be a smaller chance of him rejecting her completely that way. She had flushed at that, her fingertips fluttering self-consciously at her gown and hair and face, while the guards laughed nastily. She elected not to leave the cabin after that, and not to ask any more questions about her new life. Instead she busied her trembling fingers with bathing herself and then lacing on one of her best gowns. A silk dress of plum, the curving neckline was decorated with delicate gossamer flowers. The fluted sleeves loosened gracefully about her wrists, revealing her slender hands. Sansa pinned up her hair carefully, eager to impress despite her initial worries, and smoothed her curls into a braided knot atop her head. She slid a ringlet of opals around it, a subtle reminder of a crown, and then placed a matching jewel upon her finger. Pulling on tall stockings, to protect from the cold gusts that skittered up her dress, and then a pair of stern leather boots, Sansa heard the call from above that they were approaching land. She slid a heavy cloak of grey wool around her shoulders, clasping it with a silver direwolf broach with opals for eyes and caressed the thick ermine collar comfortingly. She was almost there, almost to her husband, to her life as Princess Sansa Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. Somewhere her nerves both exploded and calmed, excited and dulled. All her childish dreams were becoming a reality, but Sansa was no longer a child. She longed for love and devotion, for children of her own and her husband's kisses at night. But she also feared Theon would treat her unkindly, that he would not be the gallant knight she had once wished for, or that she would not be able to keep him happy. Happy, was the notion she most feared. As no handmaids of her own had been allowed to accompany her, Sansa was most apprehensive for the bedding upon the night of their marriage. With no one to ask for guidance, even if she dared, Sansa was naïve in that respect as she had ever been, and that naivety she knew he did not share.

Once she had asked the girl who brought her food what her husband to be was like. The girl had flushed and smirked and told Sansa that she was in for a treat. Upon her confusion, the girl sniggered and flicked away a dark curl from her eyes. "He knows what he is doing, milady, that is plain enough." Sansa had felt even more anxious after that, that she would not please him.

After staring into the looking glass once more, she nibbled her lip and left her cabin; eager to see the Iron Isles for the first time. Standing on deck, the wind bit at her skin causing a rosy blush to spread about her cheeks and on the tip of her nose; a gesture she hoped looked more charming than it felt. When the ship finally dropped its anchor and shuddered to a halt at the port, Sansa was shaking head to heel and had to be lifted down from the deck to reach firm ground. A man stood before her, his hair speckled with silver and a simple leather jerkin and blue doublet could be glimpsed beneath his furs.

"My Lady, I have the honour of escorting you to his Grace, Balon Greyjoy King of the Iron Isles. I am named Harren Botley, eldest son of Lord Botley his Grace's chief banner man."

She took the gloved hand he offered softly. "I thank you, my Lord, that is most gracious of his Grace to provide."

"He offers his apologies that he could not greet you in person, my Lady."

Sansa smiled gracefully, her lessons well remembered. Courtesy is a lady's armour, she reminded herself. "He needn't spare it a thought, my Lord; I am merely pleased to be on solid ground once more. The constant rocking would take some adjusting to, I fear."

The man laughed good naturedly and Sansa felt her nerves relinquish hold of her stomach somewhat. "It does, my Lady, that it does. You are still young, you will learn soon enough I should expect." He led the auburn haired Stark to a pair of mares, strong of leg and dark in colouring. He lifted her into the saddle as you would a proper Lady and she felt a giddy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Once they began the stony ride along a long uneven road, Sansa felt the courage to ask after her fiancé.

"Does my betrothed enjoy riding, Lord Botley?"

"That he does, my Lady, although he prefers sailing just as well, I should think; I confess I do not know his company all that well. "

The maiden nodded. "Mayhaps I shall learn to sail." She mused and the man chuckled.

"I wager it would do you well, Lady Sansa, the sea wind favours you." She glanced across at him, with a slight confused smile. He gestured to her cheeks lightly. "A charming colour is all."

"Thank you, my Lord." She blushed and they remained silent for the rest of the ride.

When they dismounted and entered through the grand wooden doors of the castle of Pyke. Butterflies fluttered anxiously beneath Sansa's composed expression. She faced the back of a great metal throne which sat before a roaring fire within the stone grate.

"Your Grace, may I present Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark." Lord Botley announced and the figure in the throne stirred. Then he stood and came to face Sansa, dressed in flowing silver robes and a crown of iron circling his brow. His face was stern and pinched, but not cruel and his dark eyes blazed deeply into her. Sansa fought a flinch.

Then he smiled, a line of crooked yellowing teeth revealed. "So this is lovely Lady Sansa, all grown up. And so beautiful," The man chuckled "if only I was Theon's age once more." He kissed the top of her knuckles with the gentlest of touches and her heart skipped, ever so slightly. "I welcome you to Pyke, my Lady, and my cherished kingdom. I am Balon Greyjoy, King of Salt and Rock, and of course the Iron Islands."

Sansa curtsied deeply, before kissing his hand. "I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Your Grace."

"I trust you will settle well here, my Lady, there are chambers prepared for you until your wedding. The servants will escort you and help you to unwind after that lengthy journey."

"Thank you, Your Grace, that is most kind."

Balon Greyjoy laughed, and somewhere Sansa could hear the coldness that lived in him. "You are to marry my Theon on the morrow, you must be well rested."

For moment Sansa's throat was tight but she nodded and curtsied again. "I thank you once more; I much look forward to finally meeting my betrothed." Then he had swept away from her back to his throne and she followed a slim, dark haired serving girl through the winding halls of the grand castle until she reached her chambers.

She found her chest of clothes had already arrived and requested a hot bath so that she may fully relax. It wasn't long before Sansa lay in the copper tub, watching the patterns the steam created as it rose in the cold room. She scrubbed the dirt and travel away from her skin and slathered perfumed oils over herself. Sluiced water over her hair and washed it out carefully.

After the water had cooled, Sansa sat at the dressing table in her chambers combing out her waist length hair, wrapped in her white linen nightgown and soft robe. She found herself wondering where Prince Theon was, if he was preparing for the wedding as well. If he was sat before a looking glass also, thinking about her. The thought made her tingle a little, to know the man she would spend the rest of her life with was somewhere in the castle. She tossed uneasily that night, chilled even beneath the heavy furs, and imagined her husband's face. A real prince.

Then, finally, Sansa slept.

From the window, morning sunlight kissed Sansa's face; warm and comforting. Her aquamarine eyes opened slowly, half expecting to see her direwolf at the foot of her bed or her Lady mother opening the curtains. But she was alone and cold, facing the mirror. A slender white finger reached up to trace the faint bluish shadows beneath her eyes and her brow creased with worry. There was a knock and after Sansa replied, three handmaids entered the room with small, giddy smiles gracing their mouths.

"My Lady, are you ready?"

Sansa breathed out. "I believe so." She climbed from the bed, and slid her robe around her. "I'm getting married today." She whispered to herself and allowed the girls to flock to her.

The tallest was named Ana, she was horsey faced with lacklustre brown waves but was very skilled with a brush and comb. She was the girl who ruffled out Sansa's curls so they fell wild and windswept to her waist.

Kamina was short and plump with green eyes and a mousey bob of hair and Eshra was olive skinned and darker haired, they helped each other to lace a light linen gown onto her flesh. It was loose and causal, nothing like the expensive samite she had once imagined. But the dress was no ivory or virginal white; it was grey as the sea that surrounded them, and ended around her ankles which Sansa was shocked by, but not nearly so much as the exposure of her arms. Simple straps fastened the dress to her body, leaving her slim arms bared to the cold.

"Are you sure this is the gown I am to wear?" The red head fretted.

"Truly, milady. It's a traditional Iron Island dress."

"Not white?"

"Never, milady."

Sansa bit her tongue instead of asking anymore and fiddled with her fingers. Once the dress was secured, the girls turned their attention to Sansa's face. They powdered her skin, eradicating the dark circles and then pinched her cheeks sharply to flood them with a rosy blush.

"You are ready, milady."

Sansa gazed into her looking glass to see the full effect of their work. She did look like a princess now, but of a distant land; strange to her. The dove grey softness of her dress made her skin look even paler but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, all high born women craved ivory skin didn't they? To look like a porcelain doll, to show they had never worked outside in the sun. Besides the white reminded her that it was still her wedding. Her coppery tresses were wild to her ribs. It was then that she noticed there were no shoes on her feet and she turned questioningly to Eshra.

"The wedding will take place on the beaches of Pyke, milady, after you are wed Prince Theon will escort you into the water to say the final blessing and welcome you to the Drowned God."

Sansa nodded quickly, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. She believed she was ready now.

Sansa walked alone along the pebbled shards of Pyke's shore, her heart was swelling even as the blood spilled from her feet. Slick and wet and red, it left a trail wherever she stepped. But Sansa could not feel the pain as much as the nerves. She was getting married and more than anything she longed for her Lord father, she desired a muscular arm to lean upon as the weight of her future sagged heavily on her bared shoulders. Her husband stood ahead of her, only his back visible. He had no golden curls, but a mop of shaggy brunette. She swallowed the disappointment that fluttered in her heart all of a sudden.

Her shoulders squared as she glided further toward his tall frame, her ears ringing with the sound of the waves and the wind and the Ironborn hymns that rang out across the beach. When she reached her fiancé Balon Greyjoy stood in front of her, he clasped Sansa's hand tightly and then reached into the basin of saltwater beside him and marked her forehead with it. The drop was cold and fat; it dribbled slowly down her nose and touched her lips. Then finally Sansa Stark turned to take her first look at Prince Theon Greyjoy.

He was handsome, not as she had expected but in his own unique way. With a strong jaw, clenched with nerves or anger she didn't know, and lovely high cheekbones. His eyes were as blue as her own and flecked with grey as stormy as the waves around them. His curls, shone chestnut in the dim Iron Island light, and matched his long eyelashes. He was tall and broad of shoulder and his eyes showed mirth. Sansa could love him, she knew she could.

When Theon looked at her, he felt the anger at his arranged marriage flare but then he saw her pretty lips. The crystalline blue of her large eyes, the soft line of her nose and her cheekbones. He saw her ample breasts, her small waist and wide sweeping hips. The long slender legs and graceful fingers. He could get used to her he decided.

"Sons and daughters of salt and rock, we gather upon our mother shores to join Theon and Sansa in the sight of the Drowned God. Watch over them, great guardian, bind them in love and loyalty. Keep their blood warm and their passion alight; allow these youths to live together as one. Theon, my son, mark your bride. "

Sansa gazed up at the man's face as he reached down and tenderly touched a drop of saltwater to her lips.

"I take you, Sansa Stark, to be my wife. Through salt and rock, through iron and blood. I seal our bond with the kiss of the Drowned God. What is dead may never die."

Sansa tasted salt on her tongue as she opened her lips to recite the words she had learned for him. "But rises again, harder and stronger."

Then Theon Greyjoy, Prince of the Iron Islands, leant down and placed a kiss against her sea soaked lips. Under the one chaste peck her entire body trembled, and she was sure he could feel it. When they separated, Theon laced his hand into hers and led her to the edge of the sea. Together they entered the waves, feeling blood was clean away from their toes with a stinging feeling. King Balon appeared on her other side and each man took one of her arms gently.

"Relax, my Lady." Theon murmured as Sansa's breathing increased. She looked up at her husband. "Relax."

Then the men lowered her down into the water, Theon watching her beautiful pale face disappear beneath the greying waves and her coppery hair splay out. Her fingers were locked into his, clenched with all her strength as she fought against her human instinct not to struggle. A strange pride swelled within him. Then, after what felt like hours, they pulled her up and her aquamarine eyes shone with relief. A shuddering breath raked through her and then she collapsed into her husband's arms.

"What is dead may never die." She whispered against his chest, and Theon lifted her back onto her feet.

"But rises again, harder and stronger." And then he smiled for the first time since the wedding had been announced.

The couple strode back onto the shore, Sansa's dress clinging to her figure and her lovely long hair tousled and wet. Theon slipped an arm around her slender waist as they walked; convincing himself it was just to steady her. As they reached the rocky beach they were greeted by the congregation and wrapped in thick sealskin cloaks which shimmered an oily silver. Then Balon placed a ringlet crown of engraved steel upon their brows. It was heavy and slick against her damp skin.

The wedding was over, now only the feast and the bedding remained. Sansa's stomach was tensing and chilling in anticipation. She was bundled away by the women in the group, and pulled up to the castle to dress properly while her new husband was congratulated by the men; laughing and drinking and being clapped on the back. He still stood in just heavy wool breeches and a tunic, his feet naked. Sansa glanced back once at him before being dragged inside the wooden doors.

It was when the women were redressing her that Sansa met Theon's sister Asha for the first time. She was pretty, but rather simple looking, and tall. The young woman held an air of feistiness around her like a shield and Sansa couldn't help but feel intimidated by her power.

They combed out her damp hair to dry and then twisted it into a thick braid, a few tiny ringlets framing her face. A pair of earrings were slid into her ears, graceful teardrop shaped chunks of amber hanging on a slim silver chain. A matching necklace was looped around her throat, the amber a perfect colour to bring out the flecks of copper in her hair. A heavy gown of navy blue silk, close cut to her body; something she wasn't used to. It was a V cut neckline with thin straps to reveal her pale arms but it was not provocative, merely slightly teasing. The gown showed her slim torso and hips before fluting out wider. Lastly they placed a delicate tiara of amber and silver atop her auburn braid.

She looked like royalty now, regal and elegant. Sansa looked like the princess she was.

Sweeping down into the great hall on the arm of Asha who had donned on forest green samite and a diamond hair net, looking like royalty rather than the waif of a girl Sansa had glimpsed on the beach. One who wore trousers and men's leather, with a knife belt around her hips. She smiled at Sansa and then drifted away so that Prince Theon could take his wife's hand properly and lead her to the dais at the back of the hall.

She was at least a head and a half smaller than him, but Theon had always been tall. The man looked down at his beautiful wife, with her thick coppery curls and creamy skin. When she sat beside him with the rest of the royal family on the platform, Theon felt pleased somehow that she was sitting next to him and no other man in the room.

They drank to toasts together, with their arms intertwined so as to drink from each other's cup. And finally when the toasts where finished and the dancing had begun, Theon sat beside his bride eating a slice of pie baked with crab and cinnamon. It was edged with hard boiled potatoes and noodles in green sauce. Sansa merely watched the dancing, a light smile playing about her mouth, her fork moving absently over her own plate of haddock in white wine and cream, stewed with leeks and shallots.

Theon wiped his mouth. "Would you like to dance, my Lady?"

Sansa's huge blue eyes flickered up to her husband's face. "If it would please you, my husband."

"I asked because I wondered if it would please _you_, princess, my preference is of no matter."

Sansa nibbled her lips. "Do you enjoy dancing, your grace?"

Theon took a drink from his ale cup. "Do you?" He countered.

His wife smiled. "I do."

"Then we shall dance, my princess."

Theon led her out onto the floor, joining the on-going dance without problem but not with the graceful ease his wife accomplished. Soon she was giggling quietly, her white teeth revealed as she beamed around the room. If she was worried for the bedding coming later, which Theon suspected she was, she hid it well. He glanced down at her and she looked up at him, a flicker of fear shimmered deep in her eyes. She had honest eyes, Theon decided.

As they swirled across the floor to the beats of fiddles and drums and horns, to the beat of Ironborn music, Sansa did her best to join in. She was unfamiliar with the steps but in the arms of her husband she soon managed to cease her awkwardness. The silk of her dress swelled, as it had in her dreams, with a rustle as Theon spun her furiously over the bleached marble ground. The red of her curls shimmered in the candlelight, and the braid twirled right along with her dress.

As the wide platforms of the blue and green candles melted down to the quick, Sansa's heart thumped beneath her pale skin. A final toast echoed around the swooning arcs of the grand hall, the gathering people knotting together to raise their blue crystal glasses.

"To my son, the lord of salt and rock, Prince of the Iron Islands and his beautiful wife. What is dead may never die."

"_But rises again, harder and stronger." _The people shouted, the voice glowing with celebration and wine.

Then Theon was taking her hand, leading her away from the hall and up the wide steps of the entrance to the Princely Tower, one that Theon had occupied alone until now. A tower that would now act as Sansa's home also. The spiralling staircase that lead up to the very top, the steps made of grey stone and the banister whale bone engraved with silver and moonstone; and was smooth against the Sansa's skin. She admired the craftwork of the patterns absently as she slid over the steps, with all the grace she could muster.

As they reached to top of the stairs a wide and elegant room met them. Windows framed each inch of the circular entrance hall, each with a view of the blustering waves beneath. Stone floors were dressed with thick, plush carpets, all patterned richly with a mirage of shades. Window seats formed comfortable ledges under the large bay windows, each with heavy cushions stitched with intricate thread work.

Theon continued to lead her onwards through a grand mahogany door, patterned with iron and with a large handle. Inside Sansa realised that this was her bedroom, and it was much larger than anything she had occupied at Winterfell. The stone walls were draped with wonderful tapestries, mostly depicting the triumph of the Ironborn rebellion, but above the bed a newer tapestry had been commissioned. It was a direwolf and a kraken entwined together on a sea of ice, a symbol for both their houses and a gesture Sansa appreciated more than she could say. The floor was coated with new rushes, the bed a wide four poster with sweeping lace drapes and ornate pillars. A simple writing desk was placed beneath a window, a swan feather quill standing upright in a fresh inkpot and sheets of parchments were tied together with a green velvet ribbon.

"That is for you, my Lady." Sansa glanced towards Theon surprised. "My father heard you have an aptitude for story writing, and also I thought you may long for word of your family."

The red head's eyes welled with unexpected tears, but she turned away. "Thank you, your Grace. That is most kind."

The Prince merely nodded, unlacing his doublet. A handsome thing of green velvet, the shade of a forest during a storm, with a kraken picked out in gold thread, emeralds glittering from the eyes. A simple white cotton undertunic was pulled over his head and the boy ruffled his curls awkwardly looking at his bride's back as she watched the sea through the window.

"My Lady?" The girl turned and almost gasped at the exposure of his muscular chest, before averting her eyes. "No need to look away, sweet wife, I am yours."

A tremulous smile tugged at her lips but her eyes remained interested in the ground. "That is why I am afraid."

He man strode towards her, catching her chin and pulling up her comely face. "You need not fear, Lady Greyjoy."

"Sansa" She whispered, "I should like to be called that." Then she smiled gently. Her husband nodded.

"So it shall be then, my Lady Sansa."

Slowly he removed the tiara from her hair, placing it on the desk, and unbound her hair slowly. He relished the sweet, foreign scent of it; like snow and pine needles and happiness. Freshly forged copper was the colour it best matched, but even the finest smith could not create a sheet of metal so smooth and glimmering. He smiled as it fell loose to her waist, _but it would look even better splayed across his bed sheets_, his mind suddenly whispered.

So he turned his wife, and took control of the bindings of her gown. His practised fingers slipped down her spine, pulling open the lacings so that her ivory skin was bared as the gown split down the back. Slowly he slid the fabric down her arms and it pooled at her feet as if she was standing in a dark blue rock pool.

He soaked in the soft curves of her pale flesh, the tucked in line of her tiny waist and the swooning hips. He turned her again in his arms so that she faced him, and he saw the water welling in her blue orbs.

"Sansa" He murmured. She looked up, and he kissed her fiercely. Her small lips bruised beneath the force but it sent tingles rushing through her body. His large hands seized her hips and pulled her closer so their chests were flush tight to each other. Only her silken underclothes shielded her body from him but as he lifted her into his strong arms and carried her to the bed, he pulled them away also. Her naked body lay beneath him, pale as bleached pearl and virginal soft. He smiled as he kissed her then.

He yanked away the lacing of his brown leather breeches and almost jerked away when he felt Sansa's small and terrified hands reaching to help him. Theon looked up at her anxious expression but he could see the eagerness to please clear in her eyes. He leant down and kissed her once more.

As the night rolled on and Sansa lay in her husband's arms beneath a thick set of mountain lion pelts she decided the bedding wasn't near as bad as she thought it would have been. The moon rose, dark clouds passing like shadows over its pale face and cold winds began to stir. The red head snuggled down under the furs, deep into her husband's sleeping warmth and finally Sansa dreamt.


End file.
